Page 142 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

He wipes the corner of my mouth before kissing me.

He tastes addictively of desire and coffee.

I savor him.

When he finally breaks the kiss, I pull back reluctantly.

We’re expected.

While I’m getting dressed, Dante turns his phone back on. The device immediately explodes.

Notifications. Missed calls. Texts.

He scrolls through the messages when his body suddenly goes rigid.

Instinctively, I move closer. My eyes fall on the screen.

A dozen messages from Bianca, the first ones sent Saturday morning:

Dante, we need to talk. It’s important. Call me back.

Dante, where are you? I went by the apartment and you weren’t there.

Then, Saturday afternoon:

I went to your parents’ house. You weren’t there either. Don’t tell me you’re with her on the day of our wedding. Not after what she did to us.

And this morning:

Dante, answer me. It’s urgent.

Then I read the next message, and everything stops.

Dante, I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby.

No. No. No.

“She’s bluffing,” he says. “I always used protection with her.”

But I hear it in his voice—that tiny flicker of doubt, that barely-there crack.

And it says more than words ever could.

“She’s lying,” he repeats.

I believe him. Dante is capable of anger, sometimes even cruelty, but he would never lie about something this important.

But condoms can break…

He turns toward me.

“She’s trying to destabilize us.”

I nod. But the doubt has already slipped in.

“Why is she so obsessed?” I ask.

“It’s personal revenge. She wanted your life, Valeria. And she won’t accept losing easily.”